


not just bones

by Bit_Not_Good



Series: Cattle [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Body Horror, Breeding stand, Crack, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Erogenous Throat, Fucking Machine, Hucow, Knotting, Lactation, Milking, Mutilation, Other, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:49:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22264384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bit_Not_Good/pseuds/Bit_Not_Good
Summary: In a world where the Cambridge Military Hospital is still standing when Melanie gives her first statement, Martin is sent to investigate. Jared takes him by surprise.(Read the tags.)
Relationships: Jared Hopworth/Martin Blackwood
Series: Cattle [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1610434
Comments: 12
Kudos: 170





	not just bones

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't read the tags I WILL delete your comments. Don't like? Don't read.

Like most sane people, Martin tends to avoid creepy hospitals.

Well. Mostly sane, he reasons, staring up at the abandoned Cambridge Military Hospital. After all, he did work for the Magnus Institute. And while investigating supernatural occurrences wasn’t what most people would consider sane, Martin prefers the financial stability it provides to most of the other jobs he’s worked in the past.

After several long minutes working his nerve up, he pulls a large aluminium torch from his bag and makes his way up the front steps. By this point he’s figured out that if he made it look like he was meant to be there, people tend to leave him alone, so it only takes a little fumbling with lockpicks he’s attached to a key ring to get the front door open.

The first floor isn’t as creepy as he’d initially feared, after hearing Melanie’s statement. There’s a lobby and a children’s ward, walls covered in graffiti, and the stairs seem stable enough to take one man, so Martin figured he’d see if there were any other stairways or rooms Melanie hadn’t mentioned in her statement, and go. He shined his flashlight down the rows of rusted hospital beds in the main ward, before making his way down the hall to see if any of the other rooms held anything of interest.

Most of them appear to be different, smaller wards, with five or ten beds each, all rusted and moth eaten. Martin shivers, wondering how many people have died in those beds, and hurried on. At the end of the hall he could just make out a dim sign that read “THEATRE”, and he figures if anything creepy is happening in this hospital, where better than an empty operating theatre?

A tug on the handle warrants little movement; Martin sighs and rummages in his backpack for the hinge spray. After a couple minutes letting the spray set, the hinges prove considerably looser, so that some minor pulling has the door swinging open with a low groaning noise. Martin shudders; even though he doesn’t expect to find ghosts here, it doesn’t seem wise to draw attention to himself.

Now that the door is open, though, Martin didn’t want to turn back. With a backward glance, he lifts his bag back onto his shoulder and slips through the gap into a short antechamber.

Unsurprisingly, the theatre turns out to be much creepier than the rest of the hospital. Ancient, bloody aprons hang on hooks by the door, and past the antechamber Martin can see an operating table. Shining his torch down the hall, he considers for a moment how far he’s willing to go. He’s already explored most of the hospital, after all. In the end, however, curiosity wins out.

“In for a penny, in for a pound.”

Making his way into the theatre proper, he takes in the row of rusty, wheeled trolleys full of rusty metal instruments that line the walls. In contrast, the table in the center of the room is spotless, shining as if it had just been cleaned, with straps dangling from the legs on the far end of the table.

Confused, he shone his light on the floor – but no, there were no footsteps but his, nothing to indicate recent foot traffic. And anyway, he thought reasonably, examining the contraptions fastened to the legs of the table, the door had been rusted shut. There was no way anyone had been here for months.

Pausing in his examination, Martin crouched to look closer at the folded metal. There was a latch, just there, surprisingly free of rust. After moment of fiddling with it, Martin gave an experimental tug.

With a clang, the contraption swings out and up, revealing it to be a gynecological stirrup. “Huh.” Martin moves around to the other side of the table to fiddle with the other one. It, too, swings up into place. In a daze, Martin stares at them, then sets his backpack down.

It takes only a few moments to undress, his clothing falling to the floor without a care. The table is cold on his bare skin as he climbs on, and it’s a struggle to set his legs properly in the stirrups, but the old things hold firm while he fastens his ankles and thighs to them by the old leather straps. Once he’s in place, Martin finds that he can’t remember why he climbed up, or even what he’s waiting for. He’s definitely waiting, though, and he lays his head down on the table, breath even.

Something in the back of his mind is trying to warn him, trying to tell him that he’s not safe, but it’s easy to ignore it. There’s fear, of course there is, strapped onto an operating table, spread open and immobilized, but the fear sends a delicious zing down his spine. He lies still, and doesn’t remember closing his eyes.

“Like a fly to honey,” a deep voice growls, and Martin’s eyes fly open. The fear is suddenly coursing through him, and he knows immediately that the huge silhouette standing over him means him harm. He jolts backwards, the spell broken, but the straps he’d done up around his own legs keep him in place, and the man standing over him gives a horrible, chilling laugh as he struggles. “Didn’t think you Magnus folk would be so easy to convince.”

A hand lands on his inner thigh, a hand that makes chills crawl down Martin’s spine. It has too many fingers.

“Where to start, hm?” The hand squeezes his thigh roughly, and strokes downwards till it’s holding his cock none too gently. “You won’t be needing this.” There’s a terrible jolting sensation as the hand squeezes, and Martin shouts, and then it’s like his belly is being sliced open, like he’s being punched. The man – man? – laughs cruelly, and as the hand withdraws Martin realizes with horror that his cock is gone, tucked away inside of him as if it had never been.

“Maybe if you’re good I’ll give that back later.” Next, the awful disjointed hands find his hole, and Martin squeaks as he is spread wide, thinks silently that even through the pain it doesn’t feel as if anything is tearing. “Just need to rearrange some things—”

Martin can’t tell what he’s doing, rummaging around inside him, and he feels like he might vomit at the sensation. He raises a hand to undo the straps, as if that might help, but before he can touch anything more horrible hands catch his own. “None of that.” He tries, unsuccessfully, to pull his hands away as they are dragged down, towards his abdomen; and then with the same awful tearing sensation, his hands are tucked into his belly, leaving his arms and elbows free.

He’s hyperventilating now, he’s sure of it, but he can’t stop. Eventually the hands inside him withdraw, and the shape moves around the side of the table to stand over him. In the light of the still-lit torch on the floor, Martin can just barely make out the craggy face of what might have once been a man, and far too many arms. “W—who are you?” he asks shakily, and the creature laughs like rocks grinding together.

“Name’s Jared,” he says, and then the hands land on Martin’s chest. “Hm, yeah, I think we can have some fun with these,” Jared says, fingers pinching and tugging Martin’s nipples. Martin feels as if he’s floating, hands trapped within him, mind far away, and he watches as Jared sinks his fingers into Martin’s skin and begins to tug. His hands wander down Martin’s body and up again, in pulling motions, as if he’s gathering something, and sure enough from what Martin can see, the shape of his belly changes, becomes flatter. He swallows and follows Jared’s hands, and watches with horror as his chest grows, and swells, as what was once mostly flat becomes round and plump. Martin can’t deny what he’s seeing – Jared is giving him breasts.

And not just any breasts, either, by the look of things, because soon Jared stops stroking down Martin’s belly and began to focus his attention on rearranging them.

“Always wanted to try this one,” the creature growls. “And I’ve got just the thing for you.” He pulls his hands away, and Martin feels them fall flat on his chest, a heavy weight he’s unaccustomed to. They ache, too, like they’re too full. He stares at them in horror for what feels like ages, but must be only a moment, because then Jared is forcing fingers down his throat. He gags horribly, but nothing comes up, and then the feeling of gagging disappears and he feels Jared’s fingers dig deeper into his throat.

“Good enough for now.” Jared withdraws, and Martin feels distantly the sensation of tears on his cheeks. He pants, dragging air in, trying and failing to clench his hands. Jared unstraps his legs, but before he can kick out there’s a blinding pain as Jared sinks his fingers into Martin’s knees. Martin finds he can’t bend them, even when he tries, and sobs as Jared picks him up and throws him over one shoulder. His new breasts swing, hitting him in the face, and the ache grows. As he is carried from the room and down a dark hallway, away from the antechamber he came through, he stares in horror at his nipples – now much closer to his face – as liquid beads at their tips.

***

Martin doesn’t quite black out after that, but for a time he simply cannot understand what is happening to him. There are straps, more pain, and metal, but without light to see by he simply cannot process what is happening to his body. When the movement stops, he is chest down in the dark, and he feels altogether too much.

His breasts hang, and ache, and Jared is touching them again, and there is something plasticy pressed against them that he can’t understand. Something dry nudges into his body from behind, more easily than should be possible, and he suspects if he still had a cock it would be leaking, because unexpectedly it feels _good_ there. Jared laughs when he jolts in surprise, and laughs more when Martin can’t help but moan.

“That’s a good cow,” Jared comments, and then there’s a grinding sound like of machinery, and Martin’s panic turns to hysterical bliss as, with a strange tugging sensation, the pressure in his chest releases in a rush. The thing in him is moving back and forth, becoming wetter as it goes, and he groans and tries to thrust back, only to discover that he’s bound to something, bent legs strapped down, unable to move. There’s a different pressure on his chest now, like something is being drawn out of him, and between the feeling of relief in his chest and the riot of sensation in his arse, it doesn’t take long before the world goes soft and spangled at the edges.

When Martin comes back to himself, the pleasure is still there, and he realizes with a jolt of horror that what is flowing out of his – not breasts – teats? – is milk. He is being milked. He gasps in shock, and then something oblong slides into his mouth, and he groans as it slides deep, deeper than he thought possible. It feels incredible, pleasure sparking in his throat, and – oh, this is what Jared had been doing, rummaging around inside him.

He swallows, and swallows, and his milk flows in thick spurts, and he finds he can’t stop the moans that spill out around the dildo in his mouth even as tears dribble down his cheeks. It feels so _good_ , he can’t get enough, and for a time that’s all he knows – the sensation of being milked, of sucking, and of being fucked. That’s all he is good for.

And then the thing in his arse is withdrawn in one long pull, and Martin’s whines change in pitch. He is desperate, doesn’t Jared know that? Can’t he see how much Martin needs to be filled?

“Don’t worry, cow,” Jared comments almost casually, tangling a hand in Martin’s hair, making him groan. Jared laughs. “I’ve got something special for you.”

Something blunt presses into him, larger than the dildo that had been driving into him before, and despite the stretching and the fact that he can apparently lubricate his own arsehole now, Martin screams as Jared drapes himself over Martin’s unresisting body.

“I’ve changed it a little,” Jared adds. Martin starts to cry in earnest as he is stretched, still sucking, half drunk on pleasure as he sobs. Jared's cock is huge, Martin's sure it's going to be too much, and it feels like he’s being torn open as Jared withdraws to the tip. He gasps for breath as the pain turns to pleasure, and then Jared jams back in and Martin howls.

He doesn’t know how long Jared fucks him. Long enough for the pleasure in his mouth to reach its peak over and over, long enough for his teats to start to ache, and Jared shows no sign of slowing down. Martin can’t speak, can’t beg, so he breathes through his nose and tries to relax, tries to hide his mind from the horror in his body, until finally, _finally_ , to Martin’s relief, Jared starts to slow down.

He can feel the wetness of Jared’s spunk, and then there is pressure at the rim of his hole, but different this time. The pressure is on the inside, widening, and Jared tugs at Martin’s still-exposed balls. Martin whines. “Something to remember me by,” Jared comments, and then the splitting sensation as Jared pulls Martin’s cock free once more. He jerks him off none too gently, as his knot ties them together, and Martin, over-sensitized and shuddering with upset, finally blacks out.

***

He can bend his knees when he wakes up. That’s all that matters to Martin, at first; he can move his legs. He scrambles upright from his prone position on the floor, overbalances, and topples over on his side. _Oh._

The teats are still there. His cock is back, and his legs bend, and his hands are free, but his chest is too heavy still. Jared didn’t fix that.  
Martin wipes his face and stands slowly. His body aches; he has been used, without a care for anything else. Like a cow. Like a piece of meat.  
He fumbles in the dark for a light switch, and when the lights flick on, he finds he is in an empty room. Martin looks desperately for a door, and realizes with horror that the walls are lined with litre jars full of pale white fluid. He peers at the label on the one nearest him, and swallows painfully. _Blackwood, Martin_ , it reads, and then below that, _Milk_.

The door slams open. “Martin, I found your torch. Why did you—” Jon stops in the doorway, pulled up short, taking in the scene before him. The fear is back, settling at the base of Martin’s spine, as Jon stares through him, takes in the teats sitting high on his chest. He feels stripped bare, and watches in horror as Jon’s eyes take in the drops forming on his nipples.

“Martin, **what happened**?”

_fin._

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [ear tags](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22983091) by [Madame la Problématique (callmearcturus)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmearcturus/pseuds/Madame%20la%20Probl%C3%A9matique)




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